Give Me Wings
by Cheeky Slytherin Lass
Summary: It all starts with a simple enough mission: extract a suspected terrorist from a destroyed town. But nothing is ever as easy as it seems, isn't?:: eventual SamBruce, for Lo


_For Lo because this ship is her fault._

_Word Count: 1265_

* * *

Get in, get out. Treat the target if necessary but get him into custody as quickly as possible. Nothing they haven't done countless times before. Sam adjusts his goggles before clapping his hands together and stretching. "Think you can keep up this time?"

Riley rolls his eyes. "Hard to go fast when I'm having to carry your ass," he teases, grinning as he adjusts his pack. He offers Sam a curt nod. "Ready?"

Sam twists and turns. The wings still feel sturdy. Sometimes, it's hard for him to believe this is actually really, that he can really _fly_. Parachuting and gliding are nice little adrenaline rushes, but nothing can come close to the feel of actually flying, of soaring through the air, free as a bird.

"I was born ready."

Cliche as hell, but Sam doesn't care. Riley wouldn't be the first to call him corny, or the last.

Their coordinates come in.

"Any idea what we're actually doing?" Sam asks.

"Extraction," Riley answers, and Sam resists the urge to push him out prematurely.

"Any _useful_ information?"

"Ross wants him." Riley shrugs.

_Ross. _Sam vaguely knows the name, but he's Army. Why would he have the Air Force go in?

He shakes his head. There's no use trying to make sense of anything. As long as no major codes of ethics are crossed, he's supposed to follow orders without question. If he's supposed to bring someone in for the Army, well God bless America. Looks like the Air Force finally isn't the butt of a joke.

"Let's do this," Sam says.

And then he takes the lead, throwing himself from their location. It's still the hardest part. No matter how many times he's used the equipment, there's still a part of him that worries he might fall. In the end, the rush of adrenaline that floods his veins drown out the nagging whisper.

Everything blurs below him as he passes. Streaks of green and brown blend together, and Sam grins. It's the ultimate confirmation that he is truly free, that there is _nothing _that can hold him back. He wants to shout, but he knows better than to risk jeopardizing the mission.

"Getting there," comes Riley's voice in Sam's headset.

Sam checks the navigation device, observing the drop zone up ahead. "Decrease altitude on my count," he says says, watching as the green target slowly gets closer. "Three… two… one."

With that, they dive. As they get closer to the ground, it looks like a bomb has gone off. The city is in chaos. Buildings have been reduced to rubble and dust. Vehicles are overturned and dented. The air around them gradually becomes polluted with smoke.

"Any known hostiles in the area?" Sam asks, surprised by the scene below.

"Negative."

Sam doesn't know who they're after, but he must be someone big if he's caused this much destruction. If he's honest, he's a little honored he's been tasked with bringing the bastard in.

His feet hit the ground, and he's ready for action in seconds. He grips his gun, his body tense as he scans the immediate area for any sign of danger. Nothing. It doesn't help him to relax, though. He knows too many servicemen and women who have gotten too comfortable in hostile environments, only to be sent back to the States in a wooden box. If he can manage it, he will do everything in his power not to let that happen to him or Riley.

Riley lifts his hand, gesturing for Sam to take the lead. Sam nods his confirmation before taking the first step. The city is too quiet. In the aftermath of whatever happened here, there should be noise. He wonders how many are dead, and it only strengthens him. This is the act of a coward, of some pathetic monster.

"Bingo," Riley says as they approach their destination.

Judging by the fractured sign at their feet, the place used to be a cafe. Now its walls have been smashed into dust and rocks, and glass shards litter the street. They push on, stepping carefully as they get closer to the destruction. Sam can smell hints of coffee and cinnamon mixing with the dust.

"Huh," Riley says. "He's your type."

Sam's eyes narrow at the naked man, unconscious among the ruined cafe. "I don't date terrorists."

And it's a true enough statement, but Riley is right. Their target looks like every other slightly older, dark-haired man Sam has ever fallen for. Maybe in a different life, under different circumstances, it might have been possible.

He shakes his head. This isn't the time to think about that; they have a job to do, and he can't let his own curiosity interfere.

Sam reaches for the man's wrist, but he bolts upright suddenly. Riley points his gun at the target.

"Okay, okay. Jeez. Is the gun really necessary, fellas?" the other man asks, holding his hands up.

"You tell us," Sam says. "A crazy, naked man manages to level an entire city. How'd you do it? Bombs?"

Sam doesn't think the stranger is really listening now. The man looks around, eyes wide with understanding that looks a lot like pain. "I suppose you're here to bring me in."

"Those are our orders," Sam tells him, hating the way his tone makes it sound like an apology.

"Why's the US military _here_, for me?" the man asks. "Ross?"

"Look, man, just come quietly, okay?" Sam takes a step closer, reaching for the handcuffs secured on his belt. "We don't want any trouble."

The way the other man's lips quirk makes Sam feel like maybe there's no way to avoid trouble. Just his luck. An easy mission is going to turn to shit right before his eyes.

"I'm afraid I can't let you take me."

Riley takes a step closer. "We were told to bring you in alive," he says. "But we can use force if necessary."

There's that damn hint of a smile again. Sam wonders what's so funny. Then again, it is like a joke, isn't it? The dude is naked and clearly unarmed. What can he do?

"I really don't like guns being pointed at me," the man says, anxiously scrubbing his palm over his neck. He clears his throat. "It makes me… Well, to be honest, it makes me a bit _angry_."

Sam wonders if he imagines it or if the man's skin suddenly has a hint of green to it. He blinks rapidly, and the sudden discoloration is gone. It must have been some trick of the light.

"Look, man, if you have some clothes you wanna change into, that's cool. Have a little dignity when we bring you– What the hell is that?" Sam screams, readying his rifle.

It isn't a trick of the light. The man is gone. Where he sat moments earlier, some green monster leaps, grunting as he smashes his fist into the ground, sending up a flurry of sand. The shockwave knocks Sam of his feet.

And then the man-turned-monster is gone, bounding with speed and grace that seem strange for something so large. Sam sits up, coughing. The beast is too far to shoot.

"What the hell was that?" Riley asks.

Sam shakes his head. Whatever it is, it defies logic. He doesn't have time to consider it, though; there's a more pressing matter at hand. "How are we supposed to explain that he escaped?"

"He didn't escape," Riley says brightly. "We gave him a head start."

Sam snorts. "That's one hell of a head start. Come on. We better get back."


End file.
